


I am here

by LadyTineapple



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTineapple/pseuds/LadyTineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock's fall John tries everything to keep his life together. Just when he thinks he has done it and established a long-lasting relationship, he seems to be losing his mind, hearing his phone and doorbell ringing in the dead of night, without anyone causing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am here

Half asleep, John turned in his bed, pulling his blanket up. He did not have the time to deal with the annoying noises hammering in his head. He was on a case. It was important. The noise was only putting him off and distracting him. He closed his eyes tightly, but the annoying ringing in his head did not stop. Instead, when he opened his eyes again, he woke up in an entirely different room, than the one in his dream. Only slowly did he begin to realise that it was his phone ringing in the room next door. He took a quick look at Mary, but she was still asleep. Sometimes he admired her ability to sleep through almost every sound, no matter how annoying to anyone else, as long as it was not somebody talking. This particular moment however, it bothered him. He would have liked to have at least one night’s sleep, without being woken by something while she kept on dreaming.

For the past few nights, something had always kept him up. Sometimes it was nightmares (even though he could not explain where they had come from, after more than a year without them), sometimes it was the ringing of the doorbell or phone, which were both left unoccupied when he reached them. At this point, he had begun to wonder whether he was going insane and hearing things that were not even there.

He took a swift look at the clock, telling him that it was almost four in the morning and then got up with an annoyed sigh, deciding that if he would not get an answer on the phone again, he would have to see a doctor.

“Hello?” John grunted into the speaker, feeling annoyed and tired.

For a few seconds he only heard heavy breathing and was already about to hang up, when he heard something that almost made him faint.

“John,” he well-known baritone said, so quiet and quickly that he had almost missed it.

His whole world suddenly seemed to shift and he felt as if the floor underneath him had suddenly vanished, or at least moved slightly away from him.

He could feel his heart beating in his throat, while his mouth went completely dry and his tongue seemed to get bigger. He desperately wanted to say something, anything at all, but it seemed so difficult to speak. How had he ever managed to make a sound?

“John, are you–” the voice pressed on, but was suddenly interrupted by a whimper, which, John realised only after some seconds, had come from himself.

With shaking knees, he slowly sat down, breathing deeply to keep control over his body and himself from fainting. He felt certain that he was either losing his mind or this was a dream or nightmare. A very realistic one, certainly. For three years, in which he had dreamed about Sherlock, he had never heard his voice this clear, even though the reception was bad. It had always sounded far away and somewhat muffled, but this time, his voice was really there. It sounded different from his other dreams. Deeper. He had forgotten just how deep Sherlock’s voice had really been and it angered him. How could he forget that?

“What is this?” he finally asked, trying to sound firm and as angry as he was, even though his voice was shaking slightly. All those feelings he had bottled up over the past years suddenly came rushing over him and for a moment, the weight seemed to crush him.

Yet, it was good to hear his voice. Even if it was only in his head and layered under white noise, it felt good.

“I am sorry,” Sherlock said softly. “I did not know how to– I had no idea it would affect you this much.”

“Okay,” John said with a nod, unable to cope with the situation.

“Can I see you?” Sherlock asked cautiously, after a short moment of silence.

“Can you?” John huffed. He had definitely lost his mind now, he was certain. Even if this call should be real, which was unlikely, it had blown a whole right through his brain.

“There are things I have to tell you,” Sherlock explained, ignoring John’s unfitting reaction. “It is too difficult to do like this. Please, John.”

John’s heart skipped a beat. He had missed Sherlock saying his name. There had been so many days where it had annoyed him, where Sherlock seemed to overuse it, but he had missed it badly.

He had to agree with what Sherlock said, however. It was difficult to speak there with Mary in the next room. She would think he had gone insane and she would probably be right, he thought. Maybe he should tell her, maybe he should throw her the phone and see whether she hears the same voice on the other end.

Mary. How many times had he wished she were Sherlock? Not because he disliked her, of course. He loved her deeply, but he had missed Sherlock. He had missed the danger that came with him, the chase, the battlefield. He had missed the glowing of Sherlock’s eyes, when he understood something and the cheeky grin he had from time to time. He had missed the smell of him. At times, he had even found himself missing how dependent Sherlock could be and that he rather waited an hour or two for John to come home and pass him something, because he was unable to get up and get it himself.

He simply had missed Sherlock and had refused to deal with those feelings for too long. There were many things he had refused to sort out, even before Sherlock had gone where John could not follow. Except he hadn’t. Not really, as it turned out.

“John?” Sherlock asked again, sounding a bit worried.

It felt too good to John. Hearing Sherlock say his name, something that seemed so small, suddenly meant the world to him. He was not sure what to make of it.

He took a deep breath, ready to answer, but he did not know what to say. He had already forgotten what Sherlock had said last, before his name. He should pay more attention, he thought to himself. If only it wasn’t so difficult. It would have been easier if he had not believed Sherlock to be dead for three years, that much was certain. It would also be easier, he figured, if Sherlock’s voice was not so deep and hypnotic. He could listen to it for hours, without catching a single word and just drown in the sound of it.

John shook his head, trying to concentrate. He needed to reply something, but he could not think of something. Maybe, if he was quiet for long enough, Sherlock would say something again.

“John!” Sherlock barked sounding even more worried than before.

A small, triumphant smile curled John’s lips. “I am here,” he said quietly, to relieve Sherlock finally and got a sigh from the other. 

He knew far too well that there was not much more left to say for them, not now. He knew he would have to hang up eventually, but he did not want to. Not yet. It was too soon and it probably would always be. He wanted to hear more of Sherlock’s voice. Just a few more minutes, that was all he needed. He did not want to say goodbye again.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by my lovely Emma (bitchinblackframedglasses on tumblr and ff.net)  
> Criticism is always welcome.


End file.
